So What Are You Going To Do Now?
by The Brat Prince
Summary: A lil' dark ficlet about an incident where Oliver's career is ended because of Marcus. Implied, light, light slash if you're like me and find it in everything. Otherwise, just a darky fic.


Oliver wasn't the kind of guy one would expect to see looking for trouble. He was, after all the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and one of the most popular guys in his class. He was cute, charming, and unbelievably dedicated to whatever he set his mind to. That's the way Professor McGonagall had described Oliver Wood in her closing graduation speech, when she went through her list o' favorite students. 

Stupid old woman probably would have had a heart attack if she saw her pet now. He sat in a muggle bar, face half hidden in the shadows, dressed in ragged old jeans and a ratty, moth-bitten sweatshirt waiting for his least favorite person in the world. The only person in the world who could make him feel like he did. 

He walked in through the door with the presence of a grizzly bear, half the muggles almost fainting at the sight of him, the rest quickly evacuating at the site of him. Marcus Flint had always had that affect on people.

Marcus was a big kid, and the look on his face was dead serious. He looked like he was out for blood. Oliver's blood.

Sighing, the smaller, thinner boy looked Marcus in the eye, "So you've come. I wasn't sure that you would. Gloating's always been your style, but…" He gestured in the air towards nothing, yet Marcus's eyes followed his hand.

"Not for nothing, but I don't really enjoy this." Marcus frowned, "Why would I brag? Why didn't you do it? Why didn't you beat us. You could have you know."

"I don't know. You really think I would, why would I end my career to save yours?" Oliver growled, not up for stupid questions.

He could see the scene in his mind's eye. His last game with Puddlemere before he went to the big leagues. They were playing Marcus's team. It would be just like old times.

The game had gone on for two days. Marcus was leading his team like a well trained army, in the lead with 150 points, Oliver's team, nothing. Then Puddlemere's seeker had caught the snitch. Instead of winning the game as per usual, they were tied. 

Either team could win. And yet again, the quaffle went to Marcus's team. They were so close, one of the Puddlemere chaser's stole the quaffle. They were right next to Marcus's keeper, they had the ball, and it looked like the game. 

Then Oliver saw the bludger. It was heading at top speed towards Marcus's head, who wasn't moving, frozen in anticipation. One of his chaser's was poised to steal the quaffle back. All Oliver could think of was keeping his rival alive.

He dove for Marcus, knocking him off his broomstick. And the bludger hit him, full on. A head injury that should of killed Oliver. An injury that ended his career. 

"I didn't need saving Wood." Marcus said as gently as he could, giving the effect of a lion's purr. 

"Well now is a great time to tell me Flint. If you didn't need saving then why," He brought the other half of his face out of the shadows, revealing his mangled features, his other blank eye, "Tell me why, why half my face is so horribly mangled that children scream when I pass them. Why did I do this to myself if you didn't need saving?"

Marcus gasped, a new, foreign look passing over the ex-Slytherin's face. A look of pity, sadness, and even guilt. He traced the curve of Oliver's jaw on the normal side of his face, for no curve could be found where the bludger had hit. 

"Because you wanted to be the hero. Because you're Oliver Wood." Marcus replied sadly, his troll-like features stricken. He was letting his guard down, Oliver absently realized. He was showing Oliver something that no one else had seen, no one else would never see again. 

"No. Not anymore. Oliver Wood is dead." The last muggle around decided to leave the bar when he saw Marcus reach over the counter and pour something noxious looking.

Oliver drank it in one gulp. 

"Quidditch isn't everything you know. There are other, better things." Marcus said half-heartedly.

"Nothing is better than flying. That's freedom. You know it, and I know it. A keeper with one eye can't spot a ball flying at them. Not without training, and soon we'll be past our prime. You'll be a pro, retired, and sitting in some comfy Ministry office wishing you were out there again, but your days will be done. Everyone will know your name. And me, heh, I'll be forgotten."

"So you plan on disappearing? You plan on giving up?"

"What else can I do?" Oliver rubbed his head softly, looking a bit sick.

"I don't know. I really don't." Marcus replied. The dim neon lights flickered and went out, leaving two empty souls in doubt alone in the dark night.

AN: Wow….really, truly, freaky. I guess I really am depressed. Geez, think I'll go see a counselor now. Yep, buh byes.


End file.
